Chapter 32

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

D rizzling rain spattered the pavement as Isolde climbed down from the carriage, pulling her cloak tighter around herself to hold back the chilly breeze that tried to sneak inside.

Standing there as Teresa emerged behind her, Isolde stared at the pretty shop, urging herself to find some excitement in the sight of the beautiful gowns displayed in the windows.

She felt nothing, just a desire to get back into the carriage and return home.

"Shall we have tea instead?" Isolde asked her sister.

Teresa weaved her arm through Isolde's. " After we have chosen a gown for you. Vincent was most insistent, and I do not want him to be cross with us. The wedding is not so far away, and you cannot wear something you already have. Mama will not allow it."

"No, I suppose the wedding is rather soon," Isolde mumbled, shivering at the thought.

Since accepting Noah's proposal, she had tried her very best to conjure some enthusiasm about marrying him. After the engagement had been announced, many letters of congratulation had arrived at the townhouse, but she had not bothered to read any of them; she had left that to her mother. A mother who was slowly losing her mind at her daughter's new habit of retreating to her chambers, refusing all invitations, withdrawing from society altogether.

Noah himself had visited a handful of times, and though the conversation had been as pleasant as always, she suspected that he was as uninspired by the wedding as she was. He had asked her many times, in a nervy voice, if they were doing the right thing, and she had answered vaguely, since the course they were on could not be changed now.

"I do not profess to be at all fashionable, but I am here to help you," Teresa said, pulling Isolde toward the shop door. "And think on this—the sooner we choose something, the sooner we can have scones and tea."

Isolde managed a wan smile. "That is certainly a motivating thought."

The two sisters were greeted warmly by the vibrant Madame Versailles, who shuffled out from behind her counter to embrace the women. She smelled of violets and rose water, and had mischief in her eyes as she ushered Isolde to a chair in the corner.

"You stay there while your sister and I select some fabrics for you," the modiste insisted. "I'll have some tea fetched for you, to whet your appetite for the gown of the century. I have so many ideas. Truly, I will be inundated with brides wanting the same when I am done with you!"

Isolde perched awkwardly on the edge of the chair. "I do not want anything elaborate. The simpler the better."

"Nonsense," Madame Versailles retorted. "It is your wedding—you must have a gown worthy of your beauty and future happiness."

Then make it black, Isolde resisted the urge to say so, weary of her melancholy. She did not want to drag anyone else down with her, when it was her own fault that she was about to be unhappily married. Yes, Edmund did not propose in a romantic fashion, and had not offered her particularly enticing terms, but at least she would be married to him if she had accepted. And he was the only husband she wanted.

As Madame Versailles disappeared into the back room, where them modiste kept her best fabrics, Isolde dipped a hand into her reticule and drew out the bronze mask of thorns and roses.

She traced her fingertips across the winding, weaving shapes, noting the spots where she had begun to wear the metal to a shine. Part of her wondered if she ought to ask for a gown that matched it, if such a thing were possible, though she figured that would only make the wedding more difficult.

At that moment, the shop door opened, tinkling a bell above the lintel.

"It is a private appointment! Please come back later!" Madame Versailles shouted from the back, though she did not emerge to see who had entered.

Isolde did not look either, transfixed by the beauty of the mask and the memory of the man who had worn it. She did not mind if there were other people at her private appointment. Indeed, she did not know why her brother had gone to the trouble of arranging a private appointment when everyone knew she was getting married anyway.

But when the bell did not chime again, signaling the customer's departure from the shop, she finally glanced over… and gasped with such force that it promptly sent her into a coughing fit.

"Are you well? Do you need water?" Edmund rushed to her, sinking to his knees in front of her, taking hold of her hands as she spluttered and wheezed.

She nodded as best she could. "I am… quite well. You startled me… that is all."

"I am sorry," he said softly, peering up at her. "I did not mean to scare you. I thought you had heard the bell."

"I did," she rasped, "but I did not… expect to see… you. Why would… I?"

He winced, no doubt aware that she had a point. "I thought it best to stay away, but that was before. That was when I thought that you would be happy if I was away from you, and I have it on good authority that you have not been happy. In truth, neither have I."

As the coughing eased, she stared at him, astounded by his words. After everything they had been through, every hurt he had inflicted, did he really think she cared if he had not been happy? Did he not realize that she had hoped he was as miserable as her, even though she knew she should not wish that on him?

He seemed to realize the lack of tact in what he had said, as he sank back on his haunches, still holding her hands. "I have been an idiot, Isolde. For years, I have had a… set of rules that I abide by, in order to alleviate the guilt that I hold in my heart. Those rules were designed to prevent me from feeling happiness, and when I felt happiness with you, I pulled away because I thought those rules were more important than anything. I have since discovered that one thing is more important."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I am listening."

" You are more important, Isolde." His throat bobbed. "And though I know I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, I want you to understand why I have behaved so badly."

She glanced over at the counter, but Madame Versailles and Teresa had still not emerged… almost as if they were hiding back there deliberately, allowing Edmund and Isolde to have a moment alone. It reeked of organized deception, which baffled her more than trying to comprehend what Edmund was saying.

"You felt guilty? Why?" she asked.

He hesitated, dropping his gaze. "Do you remember the first time we met?"

She nodded.

"I had… just lost my entire family. We were venturing to our house by the sea, but the weather turned foul, and a fog rolled in across the roads. The driver did not see the carriage coming in the opposite direction until it was too late, and it was moving too fast."

He cleared his throat, his voice thick. "The crash was… brutal. The carriage was thrown off the road, and it rolled down a hill. I do not remember much. I think I was rendered unconscious, but when I woke up, I was alone on a tree stump with a blanket around me, and a stranger was apologizing profusely for what had happened. I must have asked where my family was, because he told me, with tears streaming down his face, that they were gone.

"My mother, my father, my sister, my grandmother—there one moment, talking about how excited they were to swim in the sea, and then… just gone. I did not understand why I was alive, and they were not. I have never understood it, and… denying myself what they could not be there to share or see or enjoy became… a way of life that I relied on. It is why I vowed to never marry. I did not want a legacy that they would not be there to witness. I did not want to be happy if they were not there to share in my joy. I did not want to have what my sister, especially, would never have."

Isolde gaped at him, her heart stinging. She had known some of what he had just said, through Vincent, but she had not realized just how much he had lost. Nor had she realized how much it had haunted him, which made her feel awful about the tricks and jests she had played upon him, at a time when just waking up must have been a great effort.

"So, when I realized that I was falling in love with you," he continued, "I retreated from it. I was overcome with a tremendous wave of guilt, and I thought that distancing myself would make it go away. Instead, I just… missed you. The regret of not being near you was greater than the guilt, and these past weeks, I have only felt regret."

He… loves me? The shock was a visceral blow to her chest. She should have been leaping for joy, throwing her arms around him and confessing the truth of her own heart, but a different feeling rushed to the fore.

"What is wrong with you?" she rasped, shaking her head at him. "Why did you not say any of this before? Why make me think that you were toying with me, injuring me with your mercurial moods? I would have understood if you had been honest! Indeed, why say that you could only offer a marriage of convenience when, if you had said what you have just said, I would have accepted your proposal!"

She was furious. Furious and frustrated that she was now embroiled in an engagement she did want because he had been too afraid to be truthful. She liked to think she was a fairly reasonable person; she could have forgiven him if he had explained in detail. Instead, he had let her think that he was not interested and had scurried off to the countryside without another word.

Edmund blinked. "I made a mistake."

"I should say!" she retorted. "Indeed, I would like to ask why you have had a sudden change of heart?"

"Because I finally found the courage to admit something I have not told anyone before—about my guilt, about the shame that I have carried. You are the first person I have wanted to tell. It has come a little late, admittedly, but I cannot lose you, Isolde." He gripped her hands tighter. "I love you, and I am sorry it has taken me so long to confess it."

He does love me…

She pulled her hands back. "I am getting married in two weeks, Edmund! There will be a scandal, my family will suffer, I will suffer, and… you have just waltzed in here with your charming confession, sending my mind into a spiral! Why on earth did you not say something before I became engaged? My goodness, you have such atrocious timing! I do not know whether to embrace you or smack you!"

He laughed, gaining a sharp glare.

"Isolde, if marrying Noah is what you desire, then I shall not stand in your way," he said. "So, tell me—is it what you want? And do not speak of duty or scandal or your worries about society's opinion. Just tell me truthfully if he is everything you hoped for."

Isolde scoffed, as incensed as she was moved. "Just because he is not does not mean that you are, Edmund." She rolled her eyes. "No, he is not what I want. I have been dreading the wedding ever since the engagement was announced. What is more, I do not think he wants to marry me either, but what is done is done. I have to do my duty now. So, thank you for making it even harder than it already was."

He smiled—one of his rarest, most genuine smiles. Why he was so cheerful after what she had just said, she did not know. Could he not see that it was hopeless? Was he glad that his confession had come to naught?

"What if I told you that I could take care of the betrothal?" he said, lifting his hand to her cheek, his thumb brushing the flushed apple of it. "What if I told you that your brother is waiting for me to give him good news, and that you will not have to worry about anything?"

She squinted at him, gesturing at the shop around her, where swathes of fabric spilled from their colorful rolls. "Did you organize this? Did you arrange this so you could make a dramatic confession, leaving me oblivious all this time?"

"Your brother did," Edmund replied. "He came to me yesterday and told me you were unhappy. He said that if I felt something for you, I should act now. And I do feel something for you, in case you missed it the first two times. I love you, Isolde. I will make all of this right, if you will consent to be my wife. Not in a marriage of convenience, but in a marriage of love."

"That is very presumptuous," she muttered, her heart pounding, her soul screaming for her to put him out of his misery and just tell him that she loved him too. But she had suppressed her stubbornness for years, and it wanted to make itself known one last time.

"Is it?" he murmured with a smile, as he leaned in.

The first searing graze of his lips against hers blew all of the obstinacy out of her veins, softening her temper, soothing the jagged edges of her frustrated ire. Perhaps, that was why he had done it, and she found she did not care. She just wanted to enjoy the singular pleasure of kissing the man she loved, without worrying about everything that might come with it.

She slipped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, kissing him back with equal fervor. Indeed, she became certain that Madame Versailles was in on the deception, for the drapes of the shop windows had been pulled shut, allowing them absolute privacy.

I missed you…

She hugged him tightly to her, sliding her hand into his silky, russet brown locks, kissing him as if she might never have the chance again. She kissed him as if she had lost the power of speech, and needed her lips to relay the message to his own with each passionate ebb and flow.

All too soon, he pulled back, sweeping a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. "Am I still being too presumptuous?"

"Yes, but, fortunately for you, your presumption is correct," she replied, smiling for the first time in at least two weeks. "I love you, Edmund. I have tried not to, but I do. I have loved you, I think, since you pulled me into your arms and called me yours in the gardens of Kensington Palace."

He chuckled warmly. "I did not realize it was you."

"Oh, so you do that often?" she teased, pushing down the mild jab of jealousy that struck her under the ribs.

"Actually, I have never done that in my life," he replied. "I mean it. I thought it was weird at the time, but now I understand—part of me must have known it was you I was rescuing. Part of me must have wanted the chance to call you mine."

She gently stroked the side of his face. "I was looking for you. I was hoping you would find me. You were the mysterious man I mentioned what feels like forever ago."

"Well, I am sorry that I made you wait for so long," he murmured, kissing the tip of her nose. "I love you. Truly, I love you. I shall never be hesitant to say it again."

She beamed from ear to ear. "As I love you, my masked champion."

"Does this mean I am forgiven?"

She tilted her head to one side. "Kiss me again, and I shall tell you."

"I will kiss you again, my love, but you have not yet answered the most important question," he said, cradling her face in his rough, strong hands.

She frowned. "What is that?"

"My love, my darling Isolde, will you make me the happiest man in the world—happier than I have any right to be—by agreeing to be my wife?" he said softly, his eyes bright with a hope she had no intention of dashing.

She chuckled and rested her forehead on his. "Was my answer not obvious?"

He shook his head.

"Well then, my love, be assured that nothing would make me happier," she told him. "And as soon as I am no longer engaged to Noah, I hope to marry you as quickly as possible. I have dreamed of love my entire life, of spending the rest of my days blissfully besotted with my husband, so let us not wait to make it a reality."

He brushed her cheek and brought his lips closer to hers, whispering, "I would marry you right now if I could." He smiled. "So… am I forgiven?"

She kissed him then, letting the press of her lips answer him.